By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. White,” she remarked. ’ ‘Ah, that is easy,’ she began, laughing.
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